


A Joyous Occasion

by AelinElentiya



Series: The Dreams That Are Answered [3]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Babies, F/M, Feysand babies, “I’m pregnant”
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 02:57:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7917793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AelinElentiya/pseuds/AelinElentiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feyre makes a surprising, but welcome, discovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Joyous Occasion

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo... Here it is! My third Post ACOMAF fic. I am so excited to have finally finished it and I can’t wait to share it with you all! I want to especially thank @illyriantremors and @kitashi for their wonderful comments on “A Late Night Flight” as well as “Sing Me A Lullaby”. This fic is in the same ’verse as those two and all other future fics will follow the same timeline. I can’t wait to hear your thoughts!! 
> 
> Enjoy!!  
> Xoxo AelinElentiya  
> (You can find me over on tumblr! defender-of-the-rainbow.tumblr.com

A Joyous Occasion  
AelinElentiya 

 

 

 

 

It was fate, Feyre decided, that Rhys happened to be away at the Illyrian Steppes when she discovered the news that would change their lives.  
Rhys hadn’t wanted to leave, not when she’d spent the last several mornings—and afternoons—leaning over the side of the toilet bowl, hurling her guts up. But she’d managed to convince him to go, reminding him that it was important that he continue checking up on the Illyrian females training. Nesta had been personally training the females since the war, and there weren’t many arguments from the camp lords, not even Lord Devlon. There was a new batch of females to train every few months, and the recent group was well on their way to becoming the full warriors that they were born to be. Feyre found it delightful that Lord Devlon was absolutely terrified of Nesta—a Cauldron-made Illyrian warrior. He had nearly wet himself when Nesta showed up at the war camp with Cassian during the war, seen the way the females were treated, and completely lost it on him (she had broken his arm, although it could have been much worse). He was even more terrified of her than he was of Amren.  
But still, even with Nesta in charge of training the females, Rhys did have to check up on the camps at least once a month, or the commanders would think he was slacking off in his duties as the High Lord. Feyre always hated it when he was away, but she knew it was necessary, and this time, she’d all but begged him to go. She knew what she had to do eventually—knew it was inevitable—but she wouldn’t be able to do it with Rhys there. And as horrible as it sounded, she didn’t want him to be there when she found out.  
Rhys didn’t even know that she’d stopped taking her contraceptive tonic, nearly four months ago already. The first month, she’d been a little too over-eager, and when her period had been late, she’d taken the pregnancy potion only for it to come back negative—and woke up to blood staining her nightgown the next day. The Healer had told her not to worry, that it was normal, expected even, and her body would probably take some time before her cycles adjusted and returned to a regular schedule again. But it had still been a disappointment—and, at the same time, she had been relieved.  
The next month, her period was on time, which was fine by her. She had told herself that she should probably tell Rhys that she was off her contraceptive tonic. In fact, they should probably actually discuss whether or not they were even ready for children yet, or if it would be better to wait. But Feyre had heard that sometimes Fae females had difficulty getting pregnant, and she was afraid that if they waited too long, they would be unable to conceive. It had been only two years since Hybern’s War, and they were still getting used to the fact that there was peace throughout Prythian, that they were safe. Maybe she was rushing into it, but she’d made the decision on instinct, without really thinking about it first.  
It was because of Elain that she had been so quick to make the decision. Her sister and Lucien were the first to marry and begin a life together, just a month after the war ended. She hadn’t wanted to wait, Elain said, and she was convinced a wedding would be a good thing. And it had been a good thing—to have something to do, to plan, and take their minds off the grief and devastation that had wreaked havoc through their world. It certainly hadn’t been much of a surprise when Elain announced that she was pregnant barely three months later. Nine months later, a full year after the war, they welcomed a beautiful, auburn-haired baby boy, whom they named Aurin. He was three now, and the happiest little boy Feyre had ever known. She and Nesta adored her nephew and took turns in spoiling him—and so did Mor, and even Amren didn’t hesitate to offer to babysit, and took all opportunities to play with him. He had more aunts and uncles than he’d know what to do with when he was older, but for now, he loved the attention, and Elain and Lucien liked having an endless supply of babysitters for the nights that they wanted time to themselves.  
Feyre and Rhys had taken Aurin on more than one of those nights, and it had been one of those nights when she had made the decision to stop her contraceptive tonic. Rhys doted on Aurin, practically obeying his every want and wish. Seeing her mate and husband hold, play with, and talk to her nephew with shining eyes had made her fall even more in love with him—something she hadn’t thought was possible, but she found something new to love about him almost every day. Rhys tried to hide it from her, but she saw the way he looked at Aurin, especially when he was sleeping in the crib in the spare bedroom upstairs, the longing in his eyes, and knew that he was imagining what their own child would be like, imagining their own son or daughter. So she had decided that very night that she would stop taking her contraceptive tonic. She wanted to start a family with him, and she knew that he wanted it, too, even if Rhys wouldn’t say it in so many words—he had hinted at it, on the occasion, but he hadn’t come right out and said it to her. She knew he wouldn’t, either, unless she was the one to bring it up. He’d told her right from the beginning that it would be her decision when they did start a family, if they did. It was her decision if she wanted to have children with him. She knew he was secretly afraid of making her feel like she had to do anything, as though she was somehow obligated by the fact that they were mates to do anything. But she’d never felt like that with him—never felt pressured to get engaged, to get married... not with Rhys. It was part of the reason she loved him so much.  
So Feyre had decided. She was ready, and she didn’t want to wait much longer. She wanted to take that next step to their future, to forever.  
Even if it terrified the Hell out of her. 

~*~

 

Feyre stood in the huge, ensuite bathroom next to the bedroom she and Rhys shared, and paced back and forth in front of the long counter.  
She’d bought the potion nearly three and a half hours ago, but she had stalled before coming back to the house. She’d taken her time, visiting the shops, wandering along the Sidra, chatting with people, delaying the inevitable task before her for as long as she possibly could delay it. Finally, she decided she’d procrastinated long enough, and that she was being stupid—there was nothing to be afraid of, she assured herself—and she had gone home. It had taken her another hour to make the potion, mixing everything into a large (and really heavy) mixing bowl meant for baking, adding a strand of her hair and exactly three drops of her blood along with the other ingredients, making sure she was following the instructions exactly. She had read all the steps three times, and then again out loud as she was completing each one, to make sure that she had gotten everything right. If she made a single mistake, she would have to go back and get a new one, and start all over again, which she had done last time. The first time she had to go and get a new one had been embarrassing enough—she really didn’t want to do that again, or the shopkeeper would think she was incompetent.  
After the potion was mixed properly and the hot, boiling water had been added, she set the bowl into the bathroom sink (which was the safest, as it was deep enough that it wouldn’t run all over the counter if it happened to boil over by accident). And then she began the longest, most agonizing thirty minutes of her life.  
She paced in front of the counter for a good fifteen of those thirty minutes before some part of her realized constantly checking on the potion and pacing wasn't going to do anything except drive her crazy. So she left the bathroom, heading downstairs into the living room. She grabbed the book she had been reading and left on the table when she’d gone out, poured herself a large glass of cold apple juice, curled up on the couch, and tried to immerse herself in her book for the next twenty or so minutes.  
But the house was far too quiet, reminding her that she was alone, and she found herself wishing that she had asked someone to wait with her. Amren would’ve been a good choice, but she had been avoiding Amren, because with her sense of smell, she’d be able to tell if she really was pregnant. She didn’t want to hear it from Amren—she wanted to find out herself, the way she’d always known she would when the day came, the way her mother had learned she was pregnant with Feyre, and her sisters. It was the one thing that being a Fae was not going to take away from her—and the excitement, the anticipation of waiting to find out if her instincts were right, was all part of the process. But still, she wished she had asked someone to be there with her, because the house was too quiet, and the only sound was the potion slowly beginning to bubble upstairs in the sink, and her own heartbeat and breathing.  
She let her mind wander instead, imagining how she was going to tell Rhys when he came home the day after tomorrow. There were a hundred different ways that she could tell him. Maybe she would do it over a private meal. Or maybe they would go flying, and she’d whisper it in his ear... no, she thought to herself, that was too dangerous. He would be surprised, and could end up falling. No, flying was not an option. There were so many ways, but she wanted it to be special, to ensure that it was a day they would both remember for the rest of their lives. She knew he would anyway, but... if, one day, their child asked how she had told him she was pregnant, she wanted it to be magical, a story worth telling over and over again.

 

~*~

 

When the potion was finally ready, twenty minutes later, Feyre went upstairs to find the bowl was bubbling and smoke was rising from the mixture. Reading the instructions a fourth time, she carefully poured the potion into a second dish—a wide, silver tray—and watched the grey-green mixture spread into the corners of the tray, continuing to bubble in the centre for a few more seconds until the bubbles faded and revealed the answer to the question she wanted to know. There was nothing magical about the way it revealed itself. One line for no, two lines for yes. It took several seconds for the answer to appear, written in red (like the blood she had added to the potion), and although she had been anticipating it, although she had almost been positive she knew what the answer would be, her heart still stopped for a second as she stared at the two, red lines, so bold and bright that it was almost as though they were mocking her.  
The potion evaporated four minutes later, in a puff of grey sparkles, but Feyre still hadn’t moved. Probably it was shock, but at the moment, she just felt numb. She wasn’t sure what to think or feel now that she knew for certain—she was just stunned.  
It was the sound of someone knocking at the door that finally pulled her out of her shocked state, and she shook herself and winnowed downstairs—not trusting that she was steady enough to walk at the moment.  
She pulled open the door, and found Nesta and Mor standing outside, each with a bag and pillow in their hands. Mor had a huge smile on her face, but it fell when she saw the look on her High Lady’s.  
“You forgot,” she said, “didn’t you?”  
Suddenly, Feyre remembered. Of course. Whenever the men were away, Nesta, Mor and she would stay in the town house together, and have a huge sleepover. None of the women liked sleeping alone, but Feyre least off all, so it had become a tradition for them to sleepover together whenever they were left alone, even if it was just one night. Since she had been sick, Feyre had cancelled last night, trying to tough it out by herself. It hadn’t worked very well, since she had woken up alone and had a panic attack, which just caused her to throw up again. She spent most of the night curled up on the couch with a bowl that she could vomit in, since she hadn’t felt like sleeping in the bathroom.  
“I didn’t forget,” Feyre lied. “I just thought you weren’t coming until later.”  
She held the door open, and the girls came into the house, following Feyre into the living room. Nesta was looking at her suspiciously. “We thought we’d have dinner with you,” Mor explained, tossing her bag into the corner and plopping herself down on the couch. She was four months pregnant, and getting bigger by the day. The sight of her round tummy made Feyre’s own stomach do a funny jolt. “Are you feeling better?”  
“Sort of. I’ve stopped throwing up—for now anyway. I was able to go out and do some errands this morning, anyway,” she said.  
“That’s good,” Mor said. Nesta had excused herself to use the bathroom (although Feyre knew that she just liked to give the two of them some privacy, because once they started talking, they would likely forget that Nesta was there for the next few minutes). “I’m ready for the morning sickness and the nausea and the headaches to go away, though.”  
“Should they be going away soon?” Feyre asked, out of concern for Mor and also out of curiosity, since she would be going through the same stages soon. It made her slightly happier about the whole thing that Mor would be right alongside her.  
“The Healer says by the second trimester, I should experience less frequent attacks of vomiting and nausea,” Mor said. “I asked her when I could expect my husband to stop acting like I’m made of glass and treating me like normal again. She laughed, but she did tell Azriel that he doesn’t need to be quite so protective of me. Like that will help.”  
Feyre laughed, imagining what Rhys was going to be like. If he even let her out of the house, it would be a miracle. “Who is your Healer, again?” She asked. “It’s the same one that Elain and Lucien had, right?”  
“No, this one is a different one,” Mor said. “Azura. They don’t use their surnames. She’s good, though. I like her. Why?”  
“No reason,” Feyre said, but she didn’t meet Mor’s gaze. “Just wanted to have a few options. You know, just in case I need to start looking at Healers.”  
Mor knew that she had stopped using the contraceptive, since Feyre had went to her for advice when she was thinking about stopping it. “Right,” Mor said. “Have you and Rhys talked about it yet, by the way?”  
Before Feyre could answer, Nesta had returned from the bathroom and sat in the armchair across from the couch. “Talked about what?” Her sister asked.  
“Feyre stopped using her contraceptive tonic a few months ago,” Mor explained, ignoring the warning looks she was shooting her. “But she hasn’t told Rhys that she even wants to have babies yet.”  
“We have discussed children,” Feyre said. “I just haven’t had the chance to tell him that I want them, is all. I’m planning on it this weekend.”  
“You do? Really, Feyre? That’s wonderful,” Nesta said, beaming at her. “You know, now that I think about it, Cassian asked me if I was still using my contraceptive before they all left, and he did look a bit disappointed when I said of course I was.”  
“That’s because Az and him have been conspiring when they think I’m not listening to them,” Mor said. “I heard Az mention how he thinks it would be wonderful for one of us ladies to be pregnant at the same time, so that our children could grow up as close as they were, or something sappy like that. I swear, Az is more emotional about this whole thing than I am.”  
“That would be nice, actually,” Feyre said. She was now imagining her own child growing up with Mor and Azriel’s, and the two of them being as close as he, Rhys and Cassian were.  
“Yes, well, if you want to fulfill that little dream, it will have to be you, Feyre, who does it. I am not having a baby any time soon,” Nesta said. “I’m in no rush. I like having sex whenever I damn well please, thanks very much.”  
Feyre and Mor both laughed, and with that, the subject was changed. Feyre wondered only briefly about telling them, but decided against it. Rhys would be the first person she told, and only Rhys.  
Suddenly, twenty-four hours seemed impossibly long. She could hardly wait for him to come home, so she could tell him.  
And she knew exactly how she was going to. 

~*~ 

 

The night passed without too much excitement. They had dinner together, played a few games, ate several different kinds of snacks (most of which included chocolate), and stayed up into the wee hours talking about every possible thing. Finally, the three girls fell asleep in the centre of the living room (having pushed away the coffee table and chair to make room for the countless blankets, pillows, and the mattress from the spare bedroom—which was given to Mor, who complained about sleeping on the floor since she was pregnant), curled up as close to each other as they could, their hands entwined.  
They woke up around lunchtime the next day, and had brunch (or Nesta and Mor did; Feyre had woken up sick again, but had managed not to wake the two of them, so they only thought she was just nauseous) while Nuala and Cerridwen cleaned up the living room and put everything back in order. Nesta was the first to leave after they ate, giving Feyre a huge hug before she did, and whispering in her ear to feel better and let her know if she needed anything. Mor stayed for another hour or so, chatting, reluctant to go back to an empty house. When she did finally leave in the late afternoon, Feyre had only a few hours to get ready before Rhys returned home that evening.  
She had Nuala gather the supplies that she needed in town, and then, after changing into more comfortable attire, went straight upstairs to the room that Rhys had added onto the top floor of their town house—her designated painting studio.  
She might have had her own studio, but that didn’t mean everything was put on display for anyone to see when they walked in. And there were still some paintings that she preferred to do in the privacy of their bedroom—especially when she was painting Rhys. One of her favourite paintings was the one she had done of him on their wedding night. He had been sprawled out on the bed, his wings out behind him. He was completely naked, with not even a blanket covering him, the tattoos in their full glory. The moonlight shone on him perfectly, and Feyre had kept the image in her mind the entire night. In the morning, while he was asleep, she had woken and done a sketch so she wouldn’t forget it—which was lucky, since they didn’t do very much during that first week of their marriage. It was a whole week before she was finally able to start painting, and after she started, it took her three days of almost-straight painting to finish it. She had never shown it to anyone except Rhys, and it was tucked in somewhere special, but it was her favourite painting, and the one she was the most proud of. Most of her favourite paintings were of Rhys, in fact. She loved nothing more than to paint him, and he enjoyed the various... positions that she had him pose in (he also enjoyed trying to distract her from the painting, but she had more self-control than he did; at least, she liked to think so).  
The painting that she was working on now, on the other hand... She had put a lot of thought into it, and she had only a few hours to complete it.  
Feyre dipped her brush into the paint, took a deep breath, and began.

 

~*~

 

“Sorry to disturb you, Lady Feyre,” Nuala said, several hours later. Feyre had finished the painting with plenty of time to spare, but she was finishing the final touches. “But I wanted to inform you that we have finished setting up the dining area as you requested. Would you like to come and see it? Just in case we missed something?”  
“Oh, of course,” Feyre said. She left the studio, and winnowed downstairs. The lights were dimmed, only the candlelight remaining, and the soft golden glow filled the living and dining rooms.  
Feyre exhaled when she entered the dining room. It was more than she had requested. The tablecloth was the deepest purple and gold, and made the silver napkins stand out like stars against the twilight sky. There were more candles running through the centre of the table, encircled by silver, crystal flower wreaths. Cerridwen was hanging the painting—as she had requested—on the wall she was facing, so it would be the first thing that Rhys saw when he came in. There was a pot of thick, creamy soup (much better than the one she had made that one time in the cabin, she had no doubt), sitting on the table, too, and their bowls were next to each other (they didn’t like to sit far apart).  
“It looks beautiful,” she said. “Thank you.”  
Nuala nodded. “You are most welcome, Lady Feyre,” she said. “If it is not too forward of me, I would like to wish you congratulations, as well. Lord Rhysand will be delighted.”  
Feyre didn’t bother asking how she knew, but she smiled anyway. “Well. I hope he’s not too upset that I didn’t tell him I stopped my contraceptive tonic, at least,” she said.  
Cerridwen finished the painting and joined her sister. “Of course he won’t be,” Cerridwen said. “You’re his mate, his queen, and you are carrying his child. Nothing else will matter to him. May I just say that the Night Court has indeed been blessed by the Cauldron to have you, Lady Feyre. We are very lucky to have such wonderful rulers.”  
Feyre blushed, feeling tears threatening to spill. She blinked them back. “Thank you. It makes me glad to hear that,” she said. “And we are lucky to have the both of you.”  
Cerridwen smiled. “It's almost time,” Nuala said, before her twin could respond. “We will take our leave now. Unless you need anything else?”  
“No, that will be all,” Feyre said. “Thank you again. I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
And then they were gone.  
Feyre winnowed back upstairs to change and fix her hair. When she was done, she tidied up the room, making sure all of their books were in order and that the bed was made, double-checked her reflection, and went downstairs.  
She used the stairs this time, wanting to greet Rhys properly at the door. At the bottom of the steps, she straightened out her dress, and then practically ran through the living room and into the entrance hall.  
She had timed everything perfectly, not a minute too late, and she reached the front door at the same time he landed in front of it. She yanked it open before he could, and then she threw her arms around his neck. He let out a little ‘oomph’ of surprise, but his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her close and he inhaled her scent.  
“Hello, darling,” he murmured into her ear. “Someone missed me.”  
In response, she kissed him. He laughed against her mouth, but she could tell he had missed her just as much from the way he kissed her back. “Don’t leave again,” she said, breathlessly, when they finally pulled away and went into the house.  
“Believe me, I wouldn’t leave if I had a choice,” he said. “But I have my responsibilities as High Lord.”  
“I know,” she said, sighing. “But I don’t have to like them. Next time, I’m going with you. I’m High Lady. We go together from now on.”  
“Alright,” he agreed, but he wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he was taking in her appearance. From her hair, loose the way he liked it, to the lightly applied makeup she was wearing, and then to her dress. She heard his breath catch as he took in the dress, and she couldn’t help feel satisfied at the sound.  
The dress she had worn was less glamorous than most of her others, but it wasn’t any more modest. It was a floor length, sleeveless, V-neck gown, and the top was covered in dazzling silver gems. The skirt was black, with a slit that went just above her knee. Perhaps a bit fancy for a dinner with just her mate, but the dress was the opening act. The best part was underneath, though she had had a difficult time putting that part on, since the dress was so tight it didn’t leave much to the imagination, and wearing any undergarments was difficult.  
“Perhaps I should go away more often, if my returns warrants such an outfit,” he said.  
Feyre smiled sweetly. “Who said I was wearing this for you?” She said playfully, and he growled a little before grabbing her hand and pulling her towards him.  
“I missed you,” he said, pressing his lips against her cheek. “I would’ve left early if Cass had let me go. I hate leaving, especially when you were sick... I couldn’t stop worrying about you the whole time.”  
She sighed happily. “I’m fine now,” she said. “I think I might have eaten something that didn’t agree with me.”  
“That’s what Cass said, too,” he said. “Speaking of food... Is that soup I smell?”  
She had been careful to make sure the smell of paint was masked, so he wouldn’t know she had been painting until she saw the final result.  
“Yep,” she said. “I stopped throwing up yesterday, but my appetite is taking a while to go back to normal.”  
“Did you see a Healer?” He asked. She shook her head. “You should see a Healer, if it takes you too much longer to get better.”  
She just nodded, and peeled herself away from him at last. “Let’s go eat,” she said, and she followed him into the dining room, her eyes never leaving his face.  
He entered the dining room, managed to get about three steps in, and then stopped completely, freezing in place.  
“That’s new,” he said finally, though it sounded like he had something in his throat. “The painting, I mean.”  
“I finished it just before you arrived,” she said truthfully. She sat down, on the opposite side of the table so that they could still look at the painting.  
Rhys walked over to it so he could look at it better. She heard his breath catch as he started to realize, and her heart squeezed as his finger traced over the baby in the painting. The baby that was in his arms, with his eyes, and her hair.  
He whirled around, staring at her. His eyes were wide, questioning. “Th—it’s not possible,” he choked out. “You’re... You’ve been taking a contraceptive.”  
She stood, and walked over to him, taking his hands in hers. “I stopped taking it almost four months ago,” she said softly. “I meant to tell you. I just... I was afraid that if I did, you would be disappointed whenever my cycle came. And I couldn’t... I couldn’t give you false hope. I didn’t meant to keep it from you.”  
“Oh,” he breathed. “Are... are you sure?”  
She knew what he was asking, and she nodded. “I... I took the test yesterday, to make sure,” she said. She was barely able to force the words out of her mouth. “Are... are you upset?”  
He stared at her incredulously, as if she’d asked him something completely ridiculous. “Upset? No, Feyre. Never,” he said. “But... are you sure? We haven’t discussed... we never talked about... children, I mean. You really want that?”  
“You say it as if you can’t understand why I would,” she said. “But I do, Rhys. I never imagined myself having children, never thought that I would ever want them. But this... it’s different. I want to have everything, to experience everything this immortal life can offer me, with you. My mate.”  
He took a deep breath, still studying her face. “To be perfectly honest, I would’ve enjoyed having a few decades with you all to myself, but... I suppose I can make do,” he said, a lightness in his voice now.  
She laughed. “We have nine months yet. I’m sure we can come up with plenty to do during them,” she teased. “And there’s always the cabin...”  
He grinned, and suddenly he was kissing her, and she was laughing and there were tears on her cheeks—both his and hers—and it was one of the happiest moments of her life.  
“You still haven’t actually said it,” he said breathlessly, when he pulled away from her. “I want to hear you say the words.”  
She smiled, and somehow his hand had slid down to rest on her stomach—still flat, but not for much longer. There was a new, precious life growing inside of her. The thought didn’t terrify her now, not like it had those few seconds after she had found out.  
“I’m pregnant, Rhys,” she said. And saying those words filled her with an incredible joy, a complete happiness. She could feel herself beginning to glow, but she honestly didn’t care.  
He was weeping, too. She rarely saw him cry, but there were tears—tears of happiness, she knew—sliding down his cheeks. She brushed them away gently. “You’re going to be a father. You’re... We’re going to have a baby.”  
He didn’t say anything in response, just kissed her again, and she felt everything he meant to say in his kiss. It was fire and warmth and joy and love and so full of happiness—just pure happiness, unlike anything she’d known him to feel. She wrapped her arms around him, and he scooped her up, lifting her off the floor and spinning her around.  
When set her down and finally pulled away, he knelt before her, and she was about to ask what he was doing when he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her belly. She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it or not, but she couldn’t sworn she felt a jolt inside of her.  
“Hello, little one,” he whispered. “This is your Daddy. I don’t know if you can hear me, but I hope you can. Your Mommy is very precious to me, so I hope you don’t cause her too much trouble, alright? We need her, you and I. I love you very much already, and we can’t wait to meet you soon.”  
Feyre was crying when he finished, and then stood up. “I think,” she whispered, “that we are the two luckiest people in the world right now.”  
“Indeed,” he said, his eyes twinkling as he pulled her into his arms. The meal had been forgotten, but she didn’t care. “It does seem that there is someone up there looking out for us. Someone allowed us to find each other, and I will be forever grateful that they did.”  
She smiled. “I love you, Rhys,” she said.  
“And I love you, Feyre,” he murmured, and they stood there like that for a long while, in each other’s arms, perfectly content to stay there forever. 

 

 

 

.


End file.
